


Design

by prodigy



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 18:46:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11341179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prodigy/pseuds/prodigy
Summary: Leo tries to seduce Niles. This turns out to be more difficult than advertised.





	Design

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miyukitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miyukitty/gifts).



"I hope milord can find it in himself to forgive me for the manner of my return," said Niles with a quirk of his mouth illuminated by amusement; "There were a few snags."

He was unharmed. Sodden, filthy, but unharmed. Leo's feet hurt from pacing, his fingernails bitten down to flesh, and was irritated to find he wasn't even irritated. "A few snags?" he repeated.

"I fell off my horse," Niles elaborated, "and it ran off."

In his time as a retainer for the Nohrian royal family, Niles had picked up an array of nobleman's skills with some alacrity: he could kill with a sword, throw a javelin, even move the forks around his place setting without offending anyone. What sometimes still required work was his horsemanship. Leo rolled his eyes, suppressed a smile, and motioned. "Sit."

"Yes, milord." Niles found a bench in the tent away from any brocade in danger of spatter. Leo unbuckled and unstrapped the armor covering his hands and arms--Niles' gaze followed him--and sat next to him for a second inspection for damage. His clothing might have to become rags, but the rest of him was in one piece, and his eye was bright and alert when Leo held out two fingers to check for concussion. Eventually he sat further back on the bench and folded his arms.

"Well, you're alive," he said, sourly--and quite disingenuously--and gestured, "You need to get changed. I brought one of your trunks in for this eventuality."

Niles grinned: "Always prepared," he remarked, and ducked his head before the blush could reach Leo's throat. "Pardon me a moment."

Leo turned his back; he could hear the peeling noises as Niles stripped off his clothes, whistling a merry tune ( _hi-ho the derry-o, the cheese stands alone_ , maybe) as he did. "You can look," Niles said, and Leo was unsurprised to find him still half-naked: in clean trousers and boots, inspecting a shirt before he pulled it over his head. He had the body of an archer, the trimness around his chest and waist and the bulk of his shoulders and arms; he'd gained a little weight in muscle since he'd come into Leo's service, and Leo was unashamed to appraise it. If Niles noticed him looking, he didn't let on. After he donned the shirt, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and peered down regretfully at the pile of muddy clothing.

"Your hair," said Leo after a moment.

Niles glanced at him quizzically.

Leo sighed. "It's filthy," he said. "And matted. Let me comb it out."

This was not the way Leo had planned for this to come out. He pursed his lips, while Niles peered at him again, and then said, "As milord commands."

He produced the comb from his table and leaned forward--awkwardly, in his armor, which he hadn't thought through--and ran his fingers through Niles' hair, from the roots. Niles tilted his head to accommodate and shut his eye, briefly. Leo tugged the comb through with care--concentrating--and tried to ignore what he felt welling up from somewhere in the middle of himself: frustration.

* * *

Leo wasn't sure of when the idea entered his mind: only of when he set himself to his purpose, which was three days after his sixteenth birthday. Sixteen was past majority in Nohr, inasmuch as such a thing formally existed. Xander had gone to war at fifteen; Leo's mother had been taken into the seraglio before she was seventeen. After sixteen years in his father's country, no one had any cause for squeamishness. Or so he decided. He was a rational man now--and a _man_ , he would emphasize--and knew what he was about.

The remaining trouble was Niles.

At first Leo fancied himself straightforward, or as straightforward as a son of King Garon could be with a retainer. He knew the signifiers of attraction: men liked to write of them, or had, when Nohr had been a place that still cradled poetry. He stood close; he attended to archery lessons with Niles' warm hands covering his hands, and was perfectly still; he let his eyes linger on Niles' mouth when Niles spoke, which wasn't difficult, and memorized the shape of it. It was plain speech as far as flirtation went. It would have been enough for a serving-maid. A serving-maid would have gotten what she wanted out of Niles on the inside of an afternoon.

And Niles, Niles would smile at him--ruffle his hair, make an obligatory gesture at flirting, wink--and ignore him completely.

Of something more unreasonable, Leo couldn't conceive. Leo was--a human-shaped human being. He was young. He was willing. Though he was hardly Xander or Camilla, he wasn't completely undesirable. Niles had had plainer, in Leo's estimation, under Leo's nose in fact; did Niles think he was being unserious? Playing meaninglessly with fire, intending to retreat into childhood if Niles took him up on it? Well, he could _certainly_ disprove that.

 _Niles,_ Leo would say, and cringe at how gruff it came out: some habits were long in the breaking. But Niles would say _milord?_ \--with a promising note of insolence, even--and Leo would say something like, _Are you interested in practicing your letters? I have some reading recommendations._

Not the smoothest overture a boy had ever made to a man. But surely even through Leo's clumsiness, Niles could read the intent, lip-biting _willingness_ of a sixteen-year-old. Leo was sure of it. Yet when they sat down to read together, Niles took as much interest in the text as he could've hoped, and absolutely none in their proximity.

Occasionally Niles would look up and say something wry. Like: _Are all of your books about war, milord?_

Leo startled. _No! No, I mean--_ He composed himself and said, _No. I have other interests. I just thought that tactics might interest you more than other things._

 _I mean, they **interest** me._ Niles' hand brushed Leo's as he reached to turn the page. Surely he knew what he was doing. _But I'd read something else too._

Leo left love and sex alone on the shelves of his study, embarrassed and feeling a bit on-the-nose; instead he searched out a book of translated Hoshidan poetry, and hesitated. _This isn't something Father would approve of. If you understand me._

 _I do. Let me see._ Niles leaned over his shoulder to read; Leo felt the brief warmth of his breath and had the transient thought that he was being punished for something.

* * *

He didn't mean to see it. But then again, treacherous self-awareness told him, he did, after all: when you were perceptive enough, there was an intentionality to everything you did, once you had enough information to know what you were seeing. He could've backed up and gone away. But he didn't, and here he was.

Fruit only grew in the Krakenburg gardens at the height of summer, when there was enough light for it. It crowded the branches and brought them low; it provided privacy. It didn't muffle sound. Leo was reading, and periodically walking, and reading (not at the same time, he had learned several lessons in childhood about that), when he heard the noise; and then he rounded the bend, and there they were.

Niles had most of his clothing on, at least. His shirt was unlaced and the girl had her mouth pressed into his neck, muffling herself; his hand was up between her legs, rucking up her skirt past the point of decency. Leo stared. Niles noticed him maybe an instant or two after Leo noticed them, but it was an instant enough that Leo could've turned and fled; he didn't, he stared.

He expected some kind of wry exhibitionism from Niles. A challenge, maybe. Flaunting his conquest. Instead, for a moment, obvious consternation flashed across his handsome face. His brow furrowed. He looked, if anything, angry. Then it relaxed, and he looked guarded, and said, "Milord."

The girl shrieked and tamped down her skirts. Leo stared at Niles--obviously aroused, under his clothing, and now appearing for all the world like he had no shame--and finally backed away, his book up over his eyes. He could hear the shouting of the kitchen girl behind him and Niles' voice saying something placatory; he was aware all the blood was in his face and neck, and everywhere else. He ran back inside and back up to his quarters and--well, put the book away, there was no point in taking it out on the book--and then curled up on his bed and wrung his sheets in fury.

He never saw the girl again. He'd never seen her before, he realized; he just knew where she worked by the way she dressed, and supposed she was one of those many people who held up the Nohrian royal family unseen and unacknowledged. This was a great relief. Part of him wondered if Niles had planned it that way; but, acidly, Leo supposed that was unlikely, Niles was liable to find his amusement wherever he found it, and he would've fucked high-and-mighty Jakob himself in the garden if Jakob would assent. At times like this Leo hated him. No: he hated himself. He hated his rank, and he hated the notions he'd had of being any different.

But reason came crawling back, as it always did, and reason told him that Niles was always doing these things. Leo had only chanced to witness this one. He still couldn't erase the sight from the backs of his eyelids; it just took on a different significance to him.

* * *

The winter solstice came, and Leo was still sixteen. He decided that if he was going to do a thing, he would do it properly. It was late--even Niles would be in bed by now--and he took a long draught of cordial to steel his nerves; then he wore clothes he'd picked out, blue and open around the shoulders, and crossed the hallway to the retainers' tower with a lamp in his hand.

The guard at Niles' door let him pass without a word. This made him blush, ahead of schedule. Again, the many invisible people of his own castle had failed to occur to him. There was certainly no turning back now, though, and Leo stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

Niles was not asleep. Leo wasn't sure whether or not he'd hoped he would be. There was some attraction in having the advantage; but Leo suspected he wouldn't have the advantage no matter what he did. In fact, Niles was awake and reading by lamplight, and blinked when Leo came in: Leo's eyes tracked naturally to the cover. Hoshidan poetry in translation. He almost smiled a little.

But he had business here. He took a deep breath, set the lamp aside on a table--there was light enough--walked over to Niles and leaned over him, straddling his lap, keenly aware of the shape and strength of his legs underneath his trousers--and kissed him.

He didn't know what Niles tasted like. He had never kissed anyone before. He tasted like--alcohol, Leo supposed a little, he must have also been drinking before bed, and--something warm, and the moment almost went on long enough for Leo to analyze it. Then Niles put his hands--his strong hands, his rough hands--on Leo's shoulders and shoved him, hard.

Leo's balance was unsteady. He almost went tumbling back, and half-caught himself on the bedpost, shocked. Niles looked at him and said, "Did you think I was a man without any kind of restraint?" His voice was quiet.

Leo had had nightmares that went like this; it was difficult to answer without considering this. He blinked, feeling half in a nightmare at the moment, and said, "Niles?"

"Lord Leo," said Niles, not gently--"You're sixteen. Go back to bed."

Leo gaped. This genuinely had not occurred to him as a possibility. "Is that it?" he found himself saying.

"Did you think it was something else?" Niles stood, fixing him with an expression Leo had never seen on his face; he found that it was attractive, too, and hated that all over again. "Do you honestly think this is a good idea? Go back to bed."

"You're interested in me," said Leo sharply, desperately--and when Niles bit his lip and didn't contradict him, he persevered, "You're _interested in me_. We've been to _war_ together. We could _die_ together. What does it matter? You're interested in me!"

"What on earth," said Niles, "do you know about what I'm interested in, Leo?"

Leo wanted to shout something and slam the door on him. But he couldn't think of anything to shout that wouldn't be choked up halfway with tears, and that certainly couldn't happen. So he just left--past the guard, who was a well-trained wall of stone in the face of Leo's shaky footsteps and shakier breath. They were paid well at Krakenburg, paid better in Leo's and Niles' towers. The gossip wouldn't reach Leo's ears.

* * *

He didn't see Niles all day. This was in fact because Leo had coordinated this, hopefully, in front of one of Niles' days off. Thinking of that weighed him down with humiliation all over again.

On some level it had not occurred to him that he was trying to seduce someone with an entire world inside of themselves--had not occurred to him that he didn't know what place he had in that world, and that he had to operate from that. He still didn't entirely understand what had happened to him. (This was how he still framed it in his mind.) But he understood that it was his doing.

Leo took dinner alone in his room and read, turning his mind to war.

After supper was done a knock came at his door. There was a limited selection of people it could belong to, as it had made it past his guards--and no one he wanted to see. He was not quite relieved when it turned out to be Niles--in fact, he was quite dismayed--but on the other hand, it hadn't been _Xander_ , and that was that.

Leo blinked at Niles. He realized that now he was sitting with his book and Niles was standing, and it was late. He felt composed; he hadn't been crying in over twelve hours, and he felt like he had the advantage.

"Lord Leo," Niles said, subdued. There was some pattern in how Niles addressed him, Leo felt, but he hadn't been able to identify it.

"Niles," Leo said. He put his book down and cleared his throat, and said his rehearsed words: "--I'm sorry about last night. I understand that what I did was disrespectful." _I hope we can put it behind us_ , the script also said, but he found he couldn't bring himself to say that. It sounded ridiculous.

"No." Niles looked away. "It wasn't."

The script had not provided branches for divergences. Leo peered at him.

"I'm sorry," said Niles simply. "If you would like--I realize the last thing I can ask at the moment is a favor," he said, "but if you're interested--I would like it if you helped me. With my horse."

Leo frowned, genuinely nonplussed. "With your horse?" he repeated.

"Well, I know how to ride her," said Niles: "But I'm afraid she doesn't like me very much. I was thinking you might... teach me a little about getting along with her."

"Oh!" Leo stared. "Oh, in that case--"

Leo was no closer to understanding than he was before, but he led Niles down--a careful arm's-length apart from him--to the stables, and gave him apple slices to feed his mare, and then took down the curry-brush and said, "If you groom her sometimes, instead of the horse-grooms, she'll take to you more. Horses don't like being filthy any more than anyone else does." He added, with a quirk of his mouth, "Except for possibly you."

This earned a smile from Niles, who said: "I like being clean. Aren't I clean?" And without waiting for an answer, he gingerly took the brush through his horse's russet coat; she whickered in approval, and Leo nodded.

Niles stared at Leo for a long, inscrutable moment. _Stared_ was the right word; it was a little presumptuous, a little outside his rank, and entirely beyond Leo's comprehension. But then his smile returned, with a mischievous edge, and he brushed the mare's long white mane. Leo patted her absently on the snout; and the three of them continued, for quite some time, in half-comfortable silence and a three-party truce.


End file.
